Thursday, 25 March 2010

A friend of ours is sailing to Portsmouth and needs a lift to the ferry port, so we take the opportunity to spend a morning in St MaloIt's a dull grey day which is reflected in the stonework of this citadel town.St Malo's seen at its best when approached from the sea, when the tall houses with their steep roofs rise above the rampart walls.

It's all the more impressive to recall that during the Second World War this was a German stronghold and was virtually razed to the ground by Allied artillery and fire- then carefully rebuilt.This event forms just one part of St Malo's colourful history, which includes cod-fishing, voyages of discovery (Jacques Cartier lived here) and slave-trading. Another activity, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, was preying on Dutch and British vessels- merci,messieurs! this gave the town its nickname of 'City of corsairs'.Any Johnny-Depp-Alikes are conspicuous by their absence today, however- shame! and tracing the town walls are a small group of Japanese tourists, and a pair of joggers too intent on their task to return a friendly smile... the French take their pleasures seriously!From here you can see across to the Emerald Coast and the seaside town of Dinard, and closer to are the islands of Cézembre and the inhabited Le Grand Bé, where Chateaubriand is buried. At the foot of the walls on the beach are lovely breakwaters, carved into strange presences by the wind and waves.

The town from the ramparts is a delightful mess of rooftops and chimneys... here are nimble couvreurs working high above a street, below, a bin-lorry creeps its way along the cobbles, here too are creperies, cafés and hotels...a house being renovated- and a tiny glimpse, a sliver between two buildings, of schoolchildren, more heard than seen.

Down in the street we turn our backs on the healthy joggers above and 'plump' for croissants aux amandes from a bakers' kiosque.

In summer these streets will be chocca with tourists, and bright with confectionery stalls selling those lovely sweets that look like pebbles and seagull's eggs, or chocolate sardines wrapped in tinfoil. A brisk trade will be done in stripey Breton tops and matelots' caps, model ships, carved Breton figurines, pancakes and waffles and I'll try my best only to come here outside the months of July and August, but will probably be lured here by visiting friends and family.

Saturday, 6 March 2010

As seen from my studio window.It's the French local elections soon, and over the last week cars have been stopping opposite the house disgorging eager supporters of the various parties, busy with posters and paste.This means that for a few weeks we have a disconcerting sea of faces staring at us from across the road .Those living over here will -of course!- notice that I haven't included the National Front candidate in my sketch- and, anyway, someone's gouged the eyes out on that one.... queldommage!

Wednesday, 3 March 2010

Living on a hill has its advantages, and not only the ability to coast down it to start a reluctant car. A car like a 2cv. Or any car with no oil in it. We've had rain-la pluie- and wind -le vent and more then enough this week. Not as much as elsewhere, thankfully, but the flooded valley at the foot of our hillside village reminds me of the lovely English Lake District.Despite my now being an official Urban Sketcher, it's no time to be about on the streets of the town. I'm opting to stay in the studio to paint, and I'm only venturing as far as friends' houses to draw in their kitchens and from their windows, with tea and cake, thank you!

Here's some shameless publicity, but my mind turns to the South... the sun-filled days and balmy evenings spent at Chateau L'age Baston. I'm to do my stint as tutor in July this year, nota bene; with some new and deliriously exciting projects in store for the holiday-students, I'm looking forward to a happy, productive fortnight.This is is where, after a hard day's work and before dinner, there's time for a refreshing dip in the warm pool.. where I once swam while swallows rose and fell against the sky and drank beside me.

Images: The View from Antoinette's: The View from Chris's: Six Cows and a Donkey, Chateau L'Age Baston.

About Me

I was born during one of the worst winters on record in Sharoe Green Maternity Hospital, Preston.
Brought up on a post-war housing estate, archived drawings (aged five) already show a keen eye for detail such as washing on a line and fluff under a bed.
By the age of nine I was copying photos of the stars from the Radio Times, feeling that my inherent shyness precluded a career as an air hostess.
I studied at the Harris School of Art in Preston, a grand Neo-Classical building with sweeping steps leading to Avenham Park and the river.
An extra year's Foundation course was spent at the palm-clad Falmouth School of Art. from there I went to London, leading to a Diploma in Art and Design from the Central College of Art.
I spent twenty years in Brittany, France, and now live in the North-West of England.
My work leans towards the urban and the architectural, yet I'm equally happy with landscape, portrait, still-life and the nude.